


soiling the pristine

by sushishorts



Series: whiskey lover [2]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M, Rent boy Eggsy, for circumstances beyond his control, lowkey submissive eggsy, poor eggsy who hates himself a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5951548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sushishorts/pseuds/sushishorts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So this is what posh blokes do with their time, eh?” The air is tense now, and Eggsy keeps his gaze away. “Pick up rent boys and have their fun with them?”</p>
<p>“I don’t—“</p>
<p>“Let me tell this on the clearest way I could manage, Mr. Hart, because you look like you’re confused with this set up,” Eggsy says as smugly as he could; his heart is pounding and he wants to run away, far away, but Mr. Hart is looking at him expectantly and he feels like he has to put on a perfect show. “Whatever you do with me, whether it’s touchin’ or buyin’ me a fuckin’ drink or snoggin’, you have to pay me. That’s pretty much the concept of a rent boy, innit?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	soiling the pristine

**Author's Note:**

> i hate myself for continuing this while i'm working on my thesis ok
> 
> this is a direct sequel of [pure molten gold](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5804158) so u might wanna read that first
> 
> basically what you have here is some justification to why eggsy is a smug bastard when deep inside he's shaking like a puppy in the rain (they stare at each other quite a lot)
> 
> i'm a little unsure with the rating so i'll go with mature bc of the themes and a little description of what eggsy does for a living
> 
> this is unbeta-ed so please point out any mistakes, i tried to edit this as i go i swear

 

 

_From: Mr. Hart_

_I’m sorry for the other night; I might have had a glass too many of that fine whiskey and grew rather bold with my encounter with you. I’d like to make it up to you, if you could be so kind as to allow me to do so._

 

 

The thing is, Mr. Hart’s apology is the last thing Eggsy wants at the time, and he wishes the man isn’t apologizing at all in the first place. After that ballsy text he sent the other day, Eggsy has been a nervous wreck, agonizing over a reply. Before he goes crazy over it, he steps out of the house and grabs a pint at _The Black Prince_ , where he gets into trouble with his friends and manages to run away from Dean’s little pups who lives from breathing in his arsehole. Ryan and Jamal could only run so fast with beers in their gut, but Eggsy is laughing alongside them as they run through the streets of London and he felt like he’s flying.

For that short while, he forgets about his little crush and _lives_.

 

 

Except life doesn’t really play out the way Eggsy wishes it to go, as per fucking usual, when his legs end up bringing in front of _Galahad_ that day, that suave bar Mr. Hart owns. He doubts if he could get in without his name being in the list, however, so he decides against trying to get in. He passes by the establishment without any thought, until someone taps his shoulder.

“Ditching me again, aren’t you?”

Roxy is dolled up again for the evening, with her blond hair in curls and a red dress that shows her curves. Eggsy smiles at her and accepts her hug, breathing in her familiar cologne and feeling a little better about things.

“Rox,” Eggy says before he releases her with a grin. “Got me in the guest list again?”

“No, but I doubt that you’re not in it,” Roxy says, tossing her hair off her shoulder. She looks back expectantly. “Want to bet on it?”

“Nah, I ain’t got dough on me; I would though, just to prove a point,” Eggsy says with a shrug, catching up with her pace to walk alongside her. Roxy hooks her arm around his and together they approached the bouncer with the list. He looks Eggsy down with a brow raised and Roxy tries to get his attention by coughing slightly.

“Roxy Morton, love,” Roxy says with a sickening smile, and Eggsy almost gags. Roxy elbows him on the ribs and he ends up wincing slightly, before they both straighten up as soon as the bouncer looks up from his list.

“You can enter,” The bouncer says, and Roxy waltzes through when he removes the velvet rope. “Name?” He asks Eggsy, and Roxy smirks at him knowingly.

“Eggsy.”

“Oh, a V.I.P.,” the bouncer says before fixing himself up, and stepping out of the way. “Welcome to Galahad, sir.”

“ _Sir_?”

“It’s a pleasure to be here, love!” Roxy says before pulling Eggsy in, confused and all. They enter the establishment, much to Eggsy’s distaste. “Oh lighten up, it’s not like he’s the most upsetting man you’ve been with.”

“That’s the problem, innit? Fuckin’ bastard’s gonna do those bedroom eyes again and get me drunk to make me want to kiss him,” Eggsy rolls his eyes as they reached the stools, except Roxy has stopped on her tracks with wide eyes and Eggsy realizes, _shit, I never told her about that_.

“He _kissed_ you?” Roxy asks, and Eggsy thinks that he’s the biggest idiot whoever walked through London’s streets. “And you didn’t _tell_ me? Eggsy, how could you!”

Eggsy sighs before ordering a pint, and the bartender obviously recognized him and immediately served him a Guinness and a martini, with a note at the bottom. Roxy orders a Sex in the Bahamas cocktail and takes the note under the martini. Eggsy looks away to hide his blush.

“The note reads,” Roxy begins with a raised brow, looking at Eggsy first before going back to the note. “ _’I’ve been expecting you’_? Eggsy, what the— _Did you guys fuck_?”

“No! God! Rox, Jesus!” Eggsy almost chokes on his Guinness and Roxy laughs at the sight. “’m not overly religious but _holy fucking shit_ , you gotta chill!”

“You’re being too defensive about this, E; almost like you’re disappointed that you didn’t.”

Eggsy eyes the martini and slides it over to Roxy. “Don’t feel drinking much today, to be honest.”

“You’re rejecting him.” She says it like she’s commenting on the weather, but there is an air of disappointment in her tone, almost like she wasn’t expecting any of it. “Why?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and Eggsy allows himself to think about it for the first time throughout the duration of the events that transpired. He thinks it’s unfair for Mr. Hart to like him and not know what he really does for a living. He feels so _tainted_ , most of all. Mr. Hart’s hands look so clean and well-kept that he’s afraid he’d stain them up to his cuffs, and no amount of scrubbing nor bleach could ever remove it.

He takes a long gulp on his pint before answering, “He’s too good to be true, Rox, and the sooner he finds me unappealing, the better.”

Roxy only leans on her hand and sets her elbow down the table, narrowing her eyes to look into Eggsy’s body language. Eggsy hates her when she does it, simply because she’s never wrong. He looks straight to the bottle of vermouth over at the bartender’s tools, finishing off his Guinness and ordering another one. Roxy’s eyes widens and she gasps at her realization: “You like him.”

Eggsy only shoots her with a pained expression and Roxy’s gaze softens, cupping his cheek apologetically.

“I’m so disgusting, Rox,” He says, and Roxy shushes him immediately. “You don’t have to lie; I know I am. Sleeping around for money isn’t really the purest jobs in the world, but we can’t all be born with silver spoons up our arses.”

“Eggsy, never did I think of you as anything less than a wonderful man with the purest heart,” Roxy slides off her chair and settles between Eggsy’s knees, pulling him in an embrace. “He’s gonna adore you for who you are, love. I know it.”

“I fled his posh palace because I was ranking up the place,” Eggsy mumbles for only her to hear. “Everybody knows what I am. You’re the only one who could even touch me after knowing everything I do.”

“No amount of demonizing from yourself would ever make me change my mind about you.” She lets him go with a reassuring smile, and kisses him on the forehead. Eggsy feels safe altogether; Roxy always knew what to say and do. It scares him sometimes, how she does it. “Have some confidence, love. He’s been waiting patiently.”

“Ah, shit,” Eggsy groans. The bartender lingers around them for a while to see if they have stopped talking before he passes on a note. Eggsy takes it gingerly in his hands and wonders what it would take to make Mr. Hart stop, because wounds may heal over time, but his heart might need a little more than time to be okay. He’s not sure if he could take the heartbreak over the inevitable, and as much as he wishes to prolong the agony, he knows Mr. Hart wants him. For how long, he’s not sure. But after he tells him everything, he’s pretty sure he could say goodbye to that fantasy once and for all. Goodbye, whisky lover.

He sighs before standing up, grabbing his untouched pint to walk over the lounge. He could at least make it easier for the both of them, he thinks then, by soiling the pristine image Mr. Hart has of him.

He's not even sure why he likes him so. The air of sophistication might have contributed to most of it, though the purity of everything he owns might be a part of it as well. It seems like everything he touches turns perfect, and maybe if Mr. Hart touches him, he could feel like he is worthy of touching, impurities and all. He could be a perfect little boy, and Mr. Hart would be so pleased.

_(I could be more than perfect for you,_ he thinks. _More than adequate, more than enough; just more than you'd hope me to be. If you'd let me._

_Please let me,_ he prays. _Please want me, still._ )

Except he fears of spreading the damn rot he’s been sporting in his body, and he imagines it as so: black as tar, smells like death and feels like acid. It will burn through Mr. Harts hands and fingers, and it will stain his perfect suit. The anxiety over a non-existent disease slows him down, and for a while, he feels like throwing up.

The note reads: ‘Will you come see me again?’

 

 

He becomes a rent boy as early as 16. Dean makes extra sure that it isn't linked back to him when worst comes to shove, and Eggsy hates him everyday for it. He hates how he's so good at sucking cock now and how he's used to the taste of spunk and how he's okay with it on his face. He hates how he knows how to ride a man to make it enjoyable for himself, cock brushing against his prostate as he rides the man senseless, turning to a weeping mess in the end. He hates how he could never unlearn these things and can only master them, because apparently it costs extra to give a good head, and he has never been greedy when it comes to pleasure.

He hates himself for getting swept away so easily, because Mum and Daisy are his world and they need care and attention more than he does, so he sucks it up and opens wide like a good boy, and when they come all over him he feels as disgusting as the alley he's kneeling on, but at least he has money in his fists and he could finally go home and rest.

(When Michelle asks about the money, he insists that he’s had some part time job somewhere, and she doesn’t ask further. Instead, she embraces him tight, and he knows how much she knows.)

 

 

He places the pint on the table where Mr. Harry is located and sighs. He slides into the booth with no effort before saying, “You have to stop.”

“I’m afraid I’m a little lost,” Mr. Hart says then, and for the long while that Eggsy stared, it seems like he really is. “Have I been an inconvenience?”

“So this is what posh blokes do with their time, eh?” The air is tense now, and Eggsy keeps his gaze away. “Pick up rent boys and have their fun with them?”

“I don’t—“

“Let me tell this on the clearest way I could manage, Mr. Hart, because you look like you’re confused with this set up,” Eggsy says as smugly as he could; his heart is pounding and he wants to run away, far away, but Mr. Hart is looking at him expectantly and he feels like he has to put on a perfect show. “Whatever you do with me, whether it’s touchin’ or buyin’ me a fuckin’ drink or snoggin’, you have to pay me. That’s pretty much the concept of a rent boy, innit?”

Mr. Hart doesn’t answer him there and then, and Eggsy says the final blow:

“How about it, Mr. Hart,” Eggsy’s smirk is torn between inviting and insulting; he wishes he knows where he’s getting this courage to even attempt to taunt the man, but he goes along with it, knowing that everything is short-lived. “Would you still fancy me if you had to pay for the pleasure of my company?”

That should have done it.

 

 

The thing is, Eggsy is very hard to surprise simply because he’s good at reading people.

It is very important for him to be cautious around those areas, not just for his sake but for his friends and family too. Dean is notorious everywhere he goes and he’s often the target of his unsolicited attention, so Eggsy learns the hard way that he should be cautious of his goons or he’ll be sporting more than just a couple of bruises for days.

He’s gotten pretty good at defending himself, he thinks.

But here sits Mr. Hart, peering from his glass with an arched brow, and Eggsy knows that there is yet so much in store for the evening.

 

 

Mr. Hart rests his drink on his knee before saying, “Because I am first and foremost a gentleman, I’m going to ask this question if it’s not too intruding for you.”

Eggsy visibly gulps and sinks on his seat, his nerves getting the best out of him. He says nothing.

“Is this what you really want?”

Eggsy could feel his mouth drying up and he could only form the words in his head but never out loud; here comes this man, waltzing in his life like a damn hurricane, leaving every thought he has of him in fucking shambles. He feels like an open book, bare and readable and spread out, when all his life he brought every wall up with all his might to keep prying eyes away. Mr. Hart is too keen, too sharp for his own good. _If he lived in this area,_ Eggsy thinks with a smile, _he would be dead ages ago._

“Does it matter what I want?” Eggsy asks just to be difficult. He knows how this will end, after all.

“Of course,” Mr. Hart replies, all earnest eyes and soft smiles. “I am willing to pay every cent I own for your attention, that much is true, but unless you enjoy every second of it, I’m afraid I can’t give you anything.”

Eggsy rolls his eyes. “Aren’t you a perfect little prick.”

“I may be a gentleman, true-blue, but I’m afraid I am a gentleman with lavish desires. I’ve spoilt myself rotten, it seems.”

The air shifts, and Mr. Hart has his every attention now. He knows the man is aware of this; he smiles mostly to himself, then continues.

“I’ve made myself rich for that very reason, Eggsy,” Mr. Hart is on the opposite side of the booth but his presence is too overwhelming for Eggsy. He is almost too relieved that he looked away before Mr. Hart says, “I make sure that I get what I want, and most of the time, I do.”

Eggsy laughs nervously. “Why does it matter what it is I want when you can force me into…” His voice trails off when he decides to stare again, and he’s too transfixed at how Mr. Hart’s lips quirk into a smirk. “… submission?”

“Just answer the question, Eggsy.”

Eggsy crosses his arms in defense and sighs. “No,” He answers curtly. “The fuck it isn’t.”

“Then this will never happen. I am deeply sorry if I forced you into anything, my boy; it wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable,” Mr. Hart slides off the booth, buttoning his suit jacket upon standing up. He rests his hand on Eggsy’s shoulder and Eggsy visibly shudders, making him draw his hand back. “Ah, I apologize.”

“No, i-it’s not—“

“Eggsy, you answered me. You don’t want any of this and I understand completely; circumstances can be cruel to some and I can only sympathize. However…”

For the first time that night, Eggsy feels the bass on his chest and it is in perfect sync with his heartbeat. Mr. Hart’s hand is drawn out for him to take, and he eyes it curiously, then back to his eyes. They are kind, so very kind, and Eggsy’s fears are heightened.

“I’d like to help you on your present predicament, if you’d let me.”

What scares Eggsy the most is the realization that he would let this man do anything to him, money or not. He wants Mr. Hart, in every sense of the word. Since when, he’s not sure. Probably ever since.

He nods, and the man smiles the brightest he has ever seen him.


End file.
